Oh Christmas tree: a holiday fic
by NivalVixen2
Summary: COMPLETE! Ginny tries to convince Draco to have a huge Christmas tree, but he distracts her with other means.


For Julie

Prompt: Draco/Ginny - Ginny tries to convince Draco to have a huge Christmas tree, but he distracts her with other means.

...

"Draco, get up and hurry up!"

Draco groaned, lifting his head from the pillow reluctantly. "What'sammatter?" he called back to his wife, his head flopping down again.

Ginny was far too impatient to walk upstairs and Apparated instead. Draco let out a yelp of surprise at her sudden and loud arrival, mere millimetres from falling out of the bed.

"Sorry, love. Now get up," Ginny said, poking the blanket with her wand.

"What? Why?"

"You promised to get the Christmas tree with me today. Up, up," she said, swatting at his arse.

"Today, as in some time over the general course of the day, not right on the rise of the bloody sun. Bloody hell, Gin," Draco groaned, burrowing his head between their pillows.

"The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can relax," Ginny cajoled.

Draco's response was muffled, but Ginny got the general gist of it. She glowered at her husband, her hands on her hips.

"Don't make me _Accio_ the blankets, Draco."

Draco lifted his head to look at Ginny, squinting as if to determine just how serious she was. "You wouldn't dare." Draco's eyes widened when he realised just what he'd said to his wife who was notorious for being unable to resist a dare.

 _Bloody hell_.

Ginny raised an eyebrow and smirked. "I wouldn't, would I?" she asked, lifting her wand.

Draco practically vaulted out of the bed. "I'm up, I'm up!"

Ginny smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Morning, love. Get your arse dressed and downstairs."

"All right, Gin. I'll be down in a minute," Draco said, trying hard not to yawn.

Ginny sat on the chaise near their wardrobe door and waited.

"You're staying here?"

"You'll just go back to bed if I leave. We've been married for five years, love, don't think I'm so easily fooled."

Draco internally cursed. He trudged over to the wardrobe, opening the door and walking inside. "What's the weather like outside?"

"Well, it's winter and we're in England."

"It's too early for sarcasm."

"It's never too early for sarcasm, love. Now, hurry up before all the big ones are taken."

"No one's going to be waiting at the tree place to buy all of the biggest trees just to piss you off, Gin."

"You don't know that; Pansy's made some very vague threats in the last three weeks."

"You mean I'm out of bed before six o'clock because of Pansy and her vague threats? For all you know, she could be talking about house elves, for the gods' sakes!"

"She had this look in her eye and I know she's going to get the biggest tree before I can."

"Bloody hell, Gin. We had the biggest tree last year, can't you let her have it this time? I'd like a normal-sized tree so we don't have to spend a full day decorating the damn thing. You remember what happened last year?"

"Ron got drunk and enchanted the tinsel, mistletoe, and all of our Christmas ornaments, and the candy canes insulted my mother. But that's not going to happen this year!" Ginny said, eyes wide and earnest.

"You can bet your arse it's not! That's the last bloody time I'm bringing out the daffodil wine when your family's around," Draco muttered, trying decide between a soot-black shirt and a coal-black shirt.

"You said that last year too," Ginny pointed out. She looked into the wardrobe and frowned. "You're not even dressed yet? Come on, Draco; I promise it'll be fun."

"You said that last year too," Draco retorted, finding a suitable pair of trousers to go with his dragon-skin leather boots.

"It was fun."

"No, no it was not. It was cold and wet and it took all five house elves to move the bloody tree into the right position and they were too exhausted to make Christmas dinner on their own. I had to whisk an egg, Gin."

Ginny snorted. "You poor dear. Now hurry up."

Draco decided to take his own sweet time instead, sauntering back out to the bedroom with his clothes over his arm and boots held in his free hand.

From her seat Ginny watched him, her arms folded across her chest impatiently.

Draco ignored her for the moment, concentrating on his clothes. He could delay leaving by ten minutes if he went slow - fifteen if he tied his boots manually - and Draco intended on gaining every one of those minutes to himself. He shucked out of his pyjama bottoms and pulled off his shirt, using his wand to clean his body of the warm smell of sleep. There was no point to actual washing since he'd be getting drenched and dirty soon enough anyway, and he preferred to wash at night anyway.

For all that the war and Hogwarts were long over, some of the instilled habits they'd had from those times still remained. Bathing in the morning meant showing scars and scabs and wounds to classmates, whereas the night was oddly peaceful and allowed rare moments of privacy. Draco had spent a full hour in the shower the first time he realised he was truly alone. Despite the washing and scrubbing, it still hadn't feel like he'd washed the blood from his body; _damned spot_.

"Love?" Ginny queried, seeing that Draco had gone still, his shirt clenched tightly in his hands.

Brought back to the present, Draco coughed. "Fine, love. Just thinking I might go with the other shirt after all," he said, escaping to the wardrobe with the shirt still in hand.

He returned a moment later with the coal-black shirt, the soot-black shirt discarded on the floor for the house elves to attempt to straighten and de-crease the fabric later.

Another habit that had followed him from the war was that of awareness, making him far too cognisant of his surroundings when he was awake. While he was sleeping was another matter because he knew by now that Ginny had her own _habits_ from the war, and being a light sleeper was one of them. It was rare that he woke up before Ginny; the one time that he had and had tried to wake her up, she'd hexed him in response, yet another leftover from the war.

His therapist called Draco's habit paranoia, but by now, Draco knew the difference and was considering getting a new therapist. Paranoia was the fear that someone would come for him, that made him suspicious of everyone and everything around him; sure, sometimes he was paranoid, but that was a given considering his name and the things he and his family had done in the wizarding world over the last eight generations; Voldemort was just the _last_ thing they'd do, if he had any say in it. Others didn't take his same view, were still focused on ridiculous blood feuds from a hundred years ago, and sometimes, people really were out to get him. His situational awareness, however, was something completely different to the paranoia. Draco almost wished he could get medical clearance to play Quidditch again because he knew that if he played now he'd be even better than Potter, Wood, Flint, _and_ Krum combined.

Still, being hyper aware now ( _Constant vigilance!_ , he heard echoed in the back of his mind) meant that Draco heard his wife's small intake of breath as he leaned over to grab his trousers. A glance showed that she was leaning forward on the chaise, subconsciously leaning towards him, and after all of their years together - both before and since their marriage - Draco knew the telltale signs of when Ginny was aroused. He might not understand why (he was putting _on_ clothes, for gods' sakes?!), but he was definitely not going to ignore the opportunity when it presented itself. Especially if it meant getting out of tree-hunting.

Draco took his time with his trousers, pulling them on slowly one leg at a time, turning again to lean over and grab the shirt he'd left on the bed. He flexed his shoulder blades, making a show of his back - still nicely toned, despite the lack of Quidditch - and stretched his arms above his head just for further emphasis. Draco then towards Ginny as he pulled the shirt on over his arms, his shoulders, letting it hang loosely for a moment. His trousers were still unfastened, as he preferred to have his shirt tucked in neatly, and he couldn't help but grin when he saw Ginny lick her lips at the sight of him.

"All right there, love?"

Ginny nodded absent-mindedly.

Draco straightened his shirt, tugged on the cuffs to ensure they covered his scars, and then started to button up his shirt manually. A flick of his wand would have done it in a second, but Ginny had admitted (loudly, both privately _and_ publicly, and on numerous occasions) that she loved his hands. He worked slowly but surely, listening for Ginny's response and hiding his grin when he heard her stand up.

"All right, love?" he asked innocently, looking up at her from his shirt, three-quarters buttoned.

"You... Just... Take your damn trousers off," Ginny said, obviously knowing _exactly_ what Draco was doing to her.

"If you insist, love," Draco said, letting go of his shirt and moving his hands (slowly, slowly) to his trousers. He pushed them down his hips, watching as Ginny's eyes followed the motion, then let them pool on the ground beneath him.

"Tomorrow; we'll get a damned tree tomorrow," Ginny muttered, pushing Draco back onto the bed and straddling his lap.

"Of course, love."

...

The end.


End file.
